Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (3 page)

“How soon?” said Kylon.

“Tomorrow morning if at all possible,” said Nasser. “The sooner we are gone from Drynemet, the better. The Staff and Seal are here, and I do not want to leave them here a moment longer than necessary. Both for their own safety, and for the safety of the village. Callatas will not hesitate to kill anyone who stands between him and the regalia.”  

“Where are they now?” said Caina.

“In my strong room,” said Strabane. “Safest place in the village. Of course, it wouldn’t stop thieves of our caliber. But the door’s a foot thick and the walls are solid stone. Anyone tries to break into there, we’ll likely hear the noise.” 

“Callatas must know that the Staff and the Seal are here,” said Caina. “Kalgri fled from Rumarah. She would have gone straight to Callatas and told him.” 

“That was my first thought,” said Nasser. “It would, indeed, be logical. But it seems that the Huntress has not yet told Callatas of the discovery. At the very least, I do not believe that Callatas knows that we are here.” 

“Why not?” said Caina. 

“Because the Teskilati spies are more interested in us than in you,” said Strabane. “The Padishah’s secret police have been trying to creep into the villages of the Kaltari ever since the Inferno burned. The fools are worried that we shall march to join Tanzir Shahan in the south.”

“Because you are,” said Caina.

“Because we are,” said Strabane. “The clans of the Kaltari have met in moot, and have decided to join the emir Tanzir and march to restore sound government to Istarinmul. The stormdancer has been useful in hunting down the spies and the demon-worshippers who support Callatas. Even saved my life once or twice.” Kylon offered a grim nod. It seemed that hunting down Teskilati agents and Kaltari demon-worshippers had been how he had passed the time while waiting for Caina to awaken. “When we’ve interrogated prisoners, they claim to have been sent south to spy upon the Kaltari and Tanzir’s allies. Not a word about the Balarigar or these ancient relics of yours.” 

“That…doesn’t make sense,” said Caina, puzzled. “Kalgri followed us for months. She knew everything. Surely she would have realized we had gone to Drynemet, and she would have gone to Callatas with the news.” She felt herself frown. “Unless…”

“Unless the Huntress did not return to Istarinmul,” said Nasser, finishing the thought.

“Why would she do that?” said Caina. For an awful instant the memory of Kalgri’s blade plunging into her flesh felt as visceral and real as if it had happened again. Caina’s heart sped up, and she wanted to spin and make sure Kalgri wasn’t standing behind her. 

“Because she is a madwoman,” said Kylon. There was venom in his voice. “Because she delights in suffering and death. Likely she is following us to kill Caina and avenge her failure at Rumarah.” 

That thought sent another wave of fear through Caina, but she forced it aside, forced herself to think.

“No,” said Caina. “Well. Maybe. But she’s not insane. Twisted and cruel and evil, yes, but not insane. She always does things for a reason, and that reason is to kill as many people as possible. She might be following us to kill me and salve her pride, but she wouldn’t put herself at risk to do it. No, if she hasn’t gone back to Callatas and she hasn’t come after me, then...”

She thought for a moment, the others watching her without impatience. She supposed they had seen her puzzle through things often enough by now.  

“Then,” said Caina at last, “she is only delaying because she thinks a delay will allow her to kill even more people.”

It was a dark thought, but it made sense. 

“Perhaps the Huntress wishes to steal the relics for herself,” said Laertes.

“I doubt it,” said Caina. “She’s not a sorceress. She couldn’t use them.”

“Then to steal them, lay them before her master, and take the credit?” said Strabane.

“Maybe,” Caina conceded. “Were it anyone else, I would agree. But Kalgri doesn’t care about the credit. I don’t think she cares what Callatas thinks of her. The only thing she cares about is killing. She’s worse than Sicarion was.”

“Sicarion?” said Annarah.

“An assassin,” said Kylon. 

“Like me?” said Morgant. 

“Not like you,” said Kylon. “Worse than you.”

“Well,” said Morgant. “He must have been bad indeed.”

“He was a necromancer,” said Kylon. “A disciple of the Moroaica. Ah…I think she was called in Iramis…”

“The Herald of Ruin,” said Caina, still thinking about Kalgri. The Huntress was planning something, Caina was certain. She just could not see what it was, and that could be fatal. Twice before Caina had misjudged Kalgri’s plans, and she had nearly been killed both times. 

Life rarely offered second chances. It would not offer a third.

“The Herald of Ruin,” said Kylon. “She taught Sicarion the necromancy of ancient Maat. One of the spells let him graft flesh stolen from his victims to heal his wounds. If you cut off his hand, he could take a hand from a victim and affix it to the stump of his arm.”

“Truly?” said Strabane, taken aback. 

“I saw him do it,” said Caina, still thinking about Kalgri. 

“A useful spell,” said Strabane.

“You would not wish to employ it, lord headman,” said Annarah. “Such a spell corrupts the will of its user. That style of Maatish necromancy induces moral insanity, along with an insatiable lust for violence and cruelty and death. You would quickly become a far worse man if you employed such a spell.”

“That explains a great deal about Sicarion,” said Kylon. 

Caina nodded. “What you’ve said makes sense, Nasser. Kalgri must not have told Callatas about the Staff and the Seal yet, though the gods only know why. We’ll have to assume that she’s going to come after me and come after the relics at some point.”

The very thought of facing Kalgri again made Caina’s stomach twist. She had beaten Caina at Rumarah. She had failed to see the signs, and had fallen into the Huntress’s waiting arms. If not for Kylon and the Knight of Wind and Air, she would have died at Rumarah. 

They all might have died, and Kalgri was still out there, spinning her webs and laying her traps. 

“If the Huntress has chosen to delay,” said Nasser, “then we shall use the delay to our advantage. We must make for Catekharon with all speed.”

“How?” said Caina. “Traveling overland?” That would be a long journey. They would have to leave the Kaltari Highlands, cut across the plains of Akasar, and then both Istarish Cyrica and Imperial Cyrica. From there they could cross the Sarbian Desert and the grasslands of western Anshan to reach the free cities of the west and then Catekharon, or follow the Kyracian colonies along the coast to reach the City of the Sages. Such a journey, Caina suspected, would take at least three weeks, assuming all went well.

It would give Callatas and the Huntress ample time to chase them down. 

“I considered it,” said Nasser, “but it is too risky. If the Huntress is following us, she will have many opportunities to attack, to say nothing of the risks of banditry or rapacious local nobles. No, I think our best course is to proceed to Istarinmul, enter the city secretly, and hire a trustworthy ship. Once we are on the Cyrican Sea, we shall be isolated and can reach Catekharon in…”

“Two weeks,” said Kylon, in the tone of a man who had done it before. “Maybe eleven days. Assuming we hit the winds and the tides properly.” 

“Catekharon will be a safe place for the relics?” said Laertes. “The Sages have a…peculiar reputation.”

“It will,” said Caina. Her sensitivity to sorcery had given a constant headache while in the city, and she was not looking forward to seeing Catekharon with the vision of the valikarion. “Not even Callatas will be able to force his way into the Tower of Study. The Staff and the Seal will be safe there.”

“Will the Sages listen to us?” said Annarah. “Master Laertes is right. Even in my day, the Scholae had a reputation for aloof indifference to the affairs of the world.”

“They will,” said Caina. “They owe me a large favor. Kylon, too.” 

“Then it agreed,” said Nasser. “We shall proceed to Istarinmul, charter a vessel, and sail for Catekharon.”

“How fine and splendid to be in agreement,” said Morgant. His Caerish accent, Caina noted, often became thicker when he was about to say something insulting. “So we’ve locked up the relics and Callatas cannot claim them. What then?”

Nasser looked at Strabane.

“When you leave tomorrow,” said Strabane, “my warriors and I will depart from Drynemet. We will join the other clans, and meet with Tanzir Shahan’s host. Then our combined army will march for Istarinmul. We will seize the city, depose Grand Wazir Erghulan Amirasku, and kill Grand Master Callatas.” 

Silence answered him.

“And then what?” said Morgant. 

Strabane shrugged. “I am uncertain. The nobles will choose a new Grand Wazir to oversee the government of Istarinmul. Tanzir Shahan, most likely. We will also try to find the Padishah and his sons. They have not been seen in public for years, and likely Callatas has them rotting in a tower somewhere. If they are all slain,” Strabane shrugged, “then I suppose the nobles will have to elect a new Padishah. The men of the Kaltari Highlands do not care who rules Istarinmul, so long as he honors the ancient laws and is not as tyrannical as Callatas and Erghulan. For Callatas’s folly has laid Istarinmul waste. Had he not required so many slaves for his precious Apotheosis, whatever the devil that is, he would not have roused the southern emirs to revolt.” 

Caina shivered, and took another sip of the hot cider. She had spent two years trying to discover what Callatas intended with his Apotheosis, gathering bits and pieces of knowledge, and the Great Necromancer Kharnaces had told her the final truth. Callatas intended to destroy humanity and replace it with something he considered superior, with possessed humans augmented by the powers of the malevolent nagataaru. The wraithblood he distributed to the poor of Istarinmul had lowered their resistance to possession. The Staff of Iramis would summon countless millions of nagataaru, the Seal of Iramis would bind them, and the Star of Iramis that Callatas carried would provide the power for the colossal spell. The nagataaru would possess the wraithblood addicts, transforming them, and Callatas’s creatures would rampage across the world in an orgy of blood and death. 

But if they kept the Staff and the Seal away from the Grand Master, none of it would come to pass. 

“A splendid plan,” said Morgant, “though I do wonder just how you intend to kill Callatas. A sorcerer and a Master Alchemist of his power is not likely to surrender meekly.” 

Nasser smiled. “With that.”

He pointed at the valikon slung over Kylon’s shoulder. 

“Me?” said Kylon, blinking.

“Or, more precisely, the sword you carry,” said Nasser. “A valikon can pierce a sorcerous ward of any power. It can destroy any nagataaru bound within Callatas. We shall go to Catekharon…but we will return with all haste, and join Tanzir and Strabane and their host as they lay siege to the walls of Istarinmul.”

“And you really think we can kill Callatas?” said Caina.

“We must,” said Nasser. “Even if we simply chase him from Istarinmul, he still holds the Star of Iramis. He will travel to a new land and begin his evil anew, perhaps find a way to work the Apotheosis that will not require the other two relics of the Prince’s regalia. If we can kill him, if we can strike him down, we can reclaim the Star of Iramis and put an end to his dark dreams for all time.” 

“If,” said Caina, “we can kill him.” The thought of facing a sorcerer of Callatas’s power in battle was not a pleasant one. 

“The effort must be made,” said Nasser. “He destroyed Iramis. If left unchecked, he will destroy Istarinmul, the Kaltari Highlands, even the Empire and the Umbarian Order.”

“Pity you didn’t make that little speech to Cassander Nilas,” said Morgant. “Rather than wasting time chasing the Balarigar, he might have been more useful fighting Callatas.”

“Alas, even my stunning eloquence would not have been sufficient to sway Cassander to our side,” said Nasser. 

“The Umbarian Order would wreak harm on the scale that Callatas dreams,” said Annarah, “if only they had the power. They do not, not yet.” 

“Perhaps we will be fortunate and the Umbarians and Callatas may yet hinder each other,” said Nasser. “Well, we have our tasks. I suggest we should be about them.” 

Nasser, Laertes, and Strabane headed for the headman’s hall, speaking in low voices. Caina remained sitting, as did Kylon and Annarah. Morgant stood and wandered to the railing, gazing at the hills. He never did seem to go far from Annarah. He had spent one hundred and fifty years trying to keep his word to her. Perhaps he had decided to make sure she lived long enough to accomplish her task. 

“How do you feel?” said Annarah.

“Better than I should,” said Caina, “given that I was stabbed through the heart and asleep for a month.” 

Annarah waited.

Caina sighed. “Some headaches. Some vertigo, if I look at something with a sorcerous aura for too long.”

Annarah nodded. “I thought that might happen. You underwent a great and wrenching change. You will have headaches for a while, though they will pass in time.” 

“I hope so,” said Caina. 

“Think of your mind as the map of a city,” said Annarah. “Some of the streets in the map of your mind have been rewritten. It takes time to adjust. Headaches are normal in a valikarion during that time.”

“What if I am hearing voices?” said Caina. 

“Oh, nothing,” said Morgant. “It just means you’ve gone mad, that’s all. Happens all the time.” 

Annarah sighed and gave the gaunt assassin a long-suffering look. Morgant only smirked and looked back at the hills. 

“Do you ever want to punch him?” said Caina.

“I am a loremaster of Iramis,” said Annarah, “and the Words of Lore are only to be used for knowledge and healing and defense.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” said Caina. 

“No,” said Annarah. “But there are more important matters. You are hearing voices?”

“Just once,” said Caina. “I couldn’t recognize it. It said to beware the fire.”